


Through the Years (You've Always Been Here)

by Hey Future Fish (PoisonedDeath)



Series: Roses Have Thorns [And So Do I] [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Timeline, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Medication, References to anxiety, Viktor with a K
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 09:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedDeath/pseuds/Hey%20Future%20Fish
Summary: When he was 15, blue rose petals came spilling from his mouth.





	Through the Years (You've Always Been Here)

**Author's Note:**

> honestly this is one of those overdone tropes, but hey, here we go. i really wanted to play around with it a little bit, and this was the result.

When he was 12, Yuuri's rink mate, Yuuko, showed him the sixteen-year-old Russian skater, and Junior Gold medalist, Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri had never seen anything like it before, had never seen anyone command the ice in the way Viktor did. He looked so in control, so in his element, and Yuuri wanted nothing more than to be like that too. He wanted to be as good as Viktor Nikiforov, he wanted to compete against Viktor Nikiforov, and nothing was going to stop him.

When he was 13, he named his dog after him. A few months before he got his poodle that he'd affectionately dubbed Vicchan, Yuuko had shown him a magazine with a picture of Viktor - the skater - with his own poodle, Makkachin. Yuuri thought that large ball of fluff was the cutest thing in the world, and wanted nothing more than to have a poodle of his own. When he got his own - a toy poodle, one considerably smaller than Viktor's - it seemed completely logical to him to name it after the figure skater.

When he was 14, he realised he had to work harder if he wanted to catch up to Viktor. He came to the rink whenever he could, especially if he just needed space to think. Everything felt a little bit easier when he was on the ice. But that wasn't going to be enough to surpass the Russian, and he _knew_ that. He thought about that Russian more days than not, and spent more time than he'd like to admit staring at the posters of Viktor that adorned his walls. It was, quite frankly, embarrassing, and became even more so when Yuuko caught on, and teased him. "You've got a crush on him," she'd said. Yuuri couldn't deny it.

When he was 15, blue rose petals came spilling from his mouth. It wasn't a sweet as it sounded - choking and heaving as blue petals made their way out of his lungs. He'd heard about this happening, but he'd never imagined it would happen to him. He was so young, and he didn't even know who he was in love with. Or rather, he knew, but couldn't admit it, because how could he be this desperately in love with someone he'd never even met?

His mother found out a few weeks later - Yuuri hadn't been careful enough, and his mother had found a few stray petals on his pillow. He didn't tell her who it was, no matter how many times she asked. He suspected that she knew, but he didn't have the courage to confirm it. He'd look at the petals, petals that would be damp from saliva, and occasionally red-tinted, from blood, and think it would be so much more beautiful if these petals were a full flower.

A month after he'd first coughed those petals from his lungs, he was given medication. The doctor had asked him to wait outside so that he could discuss the condition with his parents. Yuuri waited outside, but listened in, carefully pressing his ear against the door.  
"If you keep him on these tablets, alongside the yearly injections, then he should live until his late twenties. Unless, of course, he gets the surgery, or..."  
Yuuri stepped away from the door. He didn't know how he would feel about being cut open and having Viktor forcefully removed.

When he was 16, he acknowledged that the plants growing inside him, no matter how well managed they were through medication, were going to affect his skating. Some days were worse than others, but he forced himself through. He had a dream to obtain, and he wasn't going to stop for anything, or anyone. He had to prove his worth, and the ice was the easiest place for him to do that.

When he was 17, he finally did cough up a full flower, and it was anything, _anything_ but beautiful. It hurt more than any amount of individual petals, and when he held it in his hands, he couldn't help but cry. This blood-stained, dripping blue flower was the most symbolic thing he'd ever seen. This flower alone was the perfect description of how he felt towards Viktor.

When he was 18, he moved to Detroit to train with his coach, Celestino. Skating had become increasingly difficult, what with the roots that were doing their best to clog up his lungs, but this was the only way he could meet Viktor. Naively, he hoped that would be enough.

When he was 19, his breathing difficulties worsened, but not due to those pesky blue roses. His fears had progressed into something deeper, and his anxiety was finally too severe to just brush aside and ignore. Celestino forced him to see a doctor, and he ended up with anti-anxiety medication. He didn't tell his family, not wanting them to see how much more of a failure he'd become.

When he was 20, Phichit found out. Yuuri had tried his hardest to be as careful as possible, not wanting his roommate to see the petals. It was embarrassing enough that Celestino knew - Yuuri did understand, however, that it was important for his coach to know of any health problems. Phichit found Yuuri locked in the bathroom adjacent to their room, with petals scattered across the floor. Yuuri would never forget the sad look his best friend gave him as he knelt down, offering to clean up.

When he was 21, nothing of any real note happened. He skated, he watched shitty movies with Phichit, he learned some Thai, and he got sicker. Phichit became increasingly protective of Yuuri, and Yuuri wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. If he'd been back in Japan, he would have found it more awkward, he concluded. But this was Detroit, and this was Phichit. When had Phichit - kind, friendly, internet-obsessed Phichit, ever played by the rules?

When he was 22, he qualified for the Grand Prix Final. That goal he’d had for so long, of catching up to Viktor, skating on the same ice as Viktor, beating Viktor – it was all suddenly achievable. But only if he didn’t let it get to him, he’d remind himself. He let it get to him without realising, and started binge eating again. Around the same time, with his twenty-third birthday fast approaching, his dog died, and he couldn’t travel back home to say his goodbyes.

When he was 23, his life suddenly took several turns that he hadn’t quite expected. He was still hung up over the death of his dog, and feeling terribly guilty that he hadn't been able to pay his respects. He couldn’t help but feel like it was some sort of sign – that he would never be equal to the real Viktor. He didn’t have time to deal with his poodle’s death, because the Grand Prix Final was fast approaching and so, he did the only thing he could think to do, and binged some more.

He made a royal mess of the Grand Prix final. In fact, that in itself was the biggest understatement of all time. He came in last place. He locked himself in a bathroom stall, feeling the petals stirring in his lungs, and let them spill in the toilet bowl before making a call home. He tried to act cool, to pretend it didn’t matter, but this was his one chance, and he’d blown it. Viktor would never see him as an equal, as valid competition – as a valid person. He couldn’t let Viktor see him. He couldn’t meet Viktor after such a pathetic display. The tears came pouring down his cheeks as sobs wracked his body, and he hung up the phone. He couldn’t speak to his mother right now. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.

Moments later, Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian Punk and Viktor’s rink mate, was trying to kick the door down and telling him he should retire. Yuuri couldn’t help but feel like the fifteen-year-old had a point.

The next day, as Yuuri left, he nearly had the opportunity to meet the man that was ruining his life, but deeming himself unworthy of Viktor’s time, and, too ashamed of his own shortcomings, he turned his back on the Russian and left.

And so, thus, he entered the portion of his life that he’d rather forget. He gained weight and crashed out of competition after competition, although he did somehow manage to finish his degree. He returned to Japan after five long years, clueless and confused. Where was he supposed to go from there? The thorns in his lungs had started to hurt him whenever he moved, but he still loved skating. He wanted to skate. He didn’t have much else he was good at, nothing that would help his family out financially – at least, not in the way that skating could. He could always help them out with the onsen, but would he enjoy that? He’d only have a maximum of seven years left, if he was lucky, and he knew that. He just had no idea how he wanted to spend it.

He took off to the rink to catch up with Yuuko, and to show her the only thing he’d been practising on the ice – Viktor’s free skate. Emulating Viktor was the easiest way for him to fall in love with skating all over again. The fact that he would simultaneously fall further for Viktor went unsaid. So when Viktor turned up the next day, declaring that he’d be Yuuri’s new coach, the Japanese man couldn’t tell if it was a dream or a nightmare. Yuuri wished that Yuuko’s triplets hadn’t filmed him, because, as a professional, it was embarrassing for there to be footage of him copying another skater, but he wasn’t angry. How could he, when Viktor was right there, naked, in front of him?

There were a few days to go before they had to leave for China, and Yuuri was in the onsen with Viktor. They’d been chatting idly, when suddenly Viktor had turned away to cough.

“Are you okay? Do you have a cold?” Yuuri had found himself asking, moving closer to his coach. Viktor had a hand to his mouth, and slowly moved it away, balled into a fist.

“I’m fine, Yuuri, don’t worry yourself,” he said, but then looked at Yuuri’s face. He was squinting, looking at Viktor’s fist. The Russian looked down, and noticed the yellow petals that were sticking out of the bottom of his folded fingers. His eyes widened, and Yuuri turned his face away. “Yuuri. I’m okay, I promise.”

“You have Hanahaki disease? For how long?” Yuuri mumbled, feeling the tears stinging in his eyes. He’d been stupidly hopeful, thinking that maybe, just maybe he had some sort of chance with Viktor, but this was it, wasn’t it? This was the moment where Yuuri would be destined to die. He could have sworn he felt the stems in his chest twist, and the thorns dug into his lungs a little harder than usual. He was probably lucky that his lungs hadn’t been punctured, and if he kept skating, then he’d probably die even quicker. Yuuri didn’t know how he felt about that. He felt sick. He didn’t want Viktor to look at anyone but him.

“I think it started after last year’s Grand Prix Final.”

“A fan?” Yuuri asked, forcing himself to be polite. Viktor was his coach after all, and he still had no idea of the blue petals that spilt from Yuuri's own lips. To preserve his secret, he had to be polite.

“I guess so.”

“Is she pretty?” Yuuri asked, hoping that that was the question anyone else would have asked.

"Not pretty, beautiful. The most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"You must really love her, huh?" The jealousy crept through, Yuuri could feel it. He just hoped that Viktor hadn't picked up on it.

"Yeah. I just wish... it wasn't like this. It makes it awkward for me, at times." Yuuri felt himself cave in. Struck with a sudden urge to open up to his coach, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about. I uh… I have it too” Yuuri managed to force out. Viktor’s face looked crestfallen, and Yuuri felt as though he’d been stabbed.

“And you didn’t think to tell me? I’m your coach, aren’t I?”

“I know I should have told you, but it’s embarrassing, really, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s a painfully beautiful expression of love.”

“Painful, yes. I used to think it was beautiful, but…”

“But what? How long have you…” Viktor trailed off and Yuuri did his best to take a deep breath.

“Since I was fifteen.” Viktor’s mouth was hung open in shock, and Yuuri let his head drop down once again.

“You’ve suffered for so long, Yuuri. If it’s been that long, then why don’t you just-“ Yuuri cut him off.

“Get the surgery? That’s what everyone says. But I accept it. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live without my memories of him. He’s my everything, so I’m fine with it. The doctor said I should reach my late twenties, but I don’t mind if I don’t.” Viktor looked like he was about to cry.

“I don’t want you to die, Yuuri. You need to win as many medals as possible first, and that won’t be possible if your lungs are all-“

“I know. I know that, Viktor, but what about you?”

“It’s only been a year, and I take my medication so I’ll be able to do what I want for a few years and then I’ll have to see what happens. The medication here is better anyway, since there's been more research.” Yuuri listened carefully to every word. It was only through growing to be so close to the Russian that he could pick up on the ever so slight waver in the Viktor's voice. He chose to ignore it.

“You’re hopeful?”

“Not really. I was, but he’s in love with someone else.”

“He?”

“Yes, he. You said he, too, so I thought you wouldn’t say anything.”

“Sorry, I’m just… surprised.”

“Surprised? I’m more surprised that most people haven’t figured out that I’m gay already.” But Yuuri was surprised. How hadn't he known this piece of information?

“I’m gay too. Or, I assume I am. It’s really only ever been him, so I’ve not got much to go on.”

“Really? No childhood crushes on celebrities, then?” Viktor asked, with genuine curiosity. Yuuri could hear the surprise behind the question, and all he could do was blush. He pressed his hands to his cheeks, his fingertips over his eyes, in an attempt to hide it.

"This was my childhood crush on a celebrity."

"How does that-" Yuri cut him off. He didn't want to be asked questions he couldn't answer, especially not by the person whose smiles and skates and style had gotten him into this mess. It wasn't really Viktor's fault, though. Viktor had no idea. It was Yuuri's fault, for feeling things for Viktor. It would have made sense if he'd developed Hanahaki disease now, but back then?

"I've no idea. All I know is that, for as long as I can remember, I've always thought that I'd do anything. I used to hope that meeting him would help, but..."

"So, you've met him? But he's... famous, you said? Do you have any way of contacting him?"

"If I wanted to, I could tell him. But he already has someone, and I'm... I'm just me. Useless little me," Yuuri said with a shrug. He watched the way Viktor scowled, and wanted to go back inside, back to his room, and never face anyone again.

"Yuuri, you're anything but useless. You're amazing. You shine so brightly out there on the ice that you could easily blind someone."

"You don't have to lie, Viktor." Yuuri sounded defeated.

"But you don't have to die, Yuuri," Viktor shot back, hurt blazing in his eyes. Yuuri let his shoulders slump even further.

"I'm sorry, Viktor."

"If you were sorry... Yuuri. Please don't. I can't live without you."

"Yes, you can."

"Yuuri. I cannot," Viktor's voice was strangely flat, and he looked as though he was trying to pull all emotion from his face.

"You can. Just go confess to the guy you're in love with and then-"

"Just how dense are you, Yuuri?" Viktor sighed, and Yuuri's head tilted in confusion.

"What?"

"These flowers. They started during the Grand Prix Final."

"You said."

"Where I first met you."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Viktor turned away, looking as though he was about to make a decision, when Yuuri's voice snatched him from his thoughts.

"Wait. Wait... It's me?!"

"I thought I'd made that obvious."

"Viktor. Fuck. Shit. Viktor."

"That's... a lot more swearing than I'd expect from you, Yuuri," Viktor forced out, his voice unsteady, in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

"I love you, Viktor."

"It's me?"

"It's always been you."

After that, he was kissed on live television at the Cup of China by Viktor, somehow got engaged to Viktor, and qualified for the Grand Prix Final. He took silver at the event, and moved to Saint Petersburg so that Viktor could return to skating.

And that's how, now that he's 24, Yuuri wakes up in the morning to Viktor's legs wrapped around him, and Viktor's breath against his skin and Viktor everywhere. There's not a single flower in sight, and Makkachin sleeps soundly at the foot of the bed.


End file.
